A Rumor in Knockturn
by Megaerakles
Summary: Twelve years after a war with the muggles, a rumor spreads in the decrepit wizarding city of Knocturn that the half-blood daughter of Sirius Black might be alive. Knockturn's two brightest con men have teamed up to "find" her and claim the reward. When their paths cross with that of a penniless orphan and her over-sized cat, might fate have had a hand? (Tomione Anastasia au)
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** This is a Tomione AU inspired by the 1997 film Anastasia; it was originally intended to be a one shot, but I have decided to continue the story.

"Ten _million_ galleons, Riddle." Abraxas muttered as yet another failed contender slunk off the dimly lit wooden stage in disappointment. "All we need is a girl who can passfor Hermione Black for a _single_ evening, and we'll never want for anything again!"

Tom pressed his palm into his eye as he tried to get the sound of the last "Hermione" attempting to sing "like a pureblood" out of his head. The girl, Millicent Bulstrode, had murdered a perfectly innocent operatic aria in increasingly higher octaves until Abraxas had shouted over her to stop. Now on top of suffering through the hordes of talentless pretenders that the decrepit city of Knockturn hid in its cracks and gutters, he would have an ear-splitting headache to make the experience that much more excruciating. "Whatever," he said tiredly, opening his eyes again. "How many more auditions do we have today?"

"Just five," Abraxas said after consulting the sign-up sheet they'd surreptitiously posted in the back of the pub. "Um, the next one is—"

"Pansy," Tom interrupted, scowling as the familiar dark-haired girl sauntered onto the stage. "What are _you_ doing here, Parkinson?" he snapped, fixing her with one of his darkest glares.

The insufferable twit who used to cling to him and Abraxas during their shared school years fluttered her heavily made-up eyes in his direction. "Pansy? Parkinson? I have no idea what you're talking about, Tommy," she cooed. "Don't you see?" Here she pushed her chest out and dropped her shoulders back to allow her fur-lined cloak to slide down her body as she struck what must have been meant to be a seductive pose. Her voice took on a sultry quality as she drawled, "It's me, Daddy—Hermione Black!"

The pain in Tom's head became sharper.

"Parkinson, stop messing around," Abraxas said, shaking his head. "People in London already know who your parents are, there's no way they'd believe that you're Sirius' long-lost daughter."

Pansy stuck her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. She looked like she was about to say more, but Tom cut her off with a sharp look. "Leave _now_ , Pansy. We don't have time for you today!"

"Hmph!" Pansy drew her gaudy cloak around her shoulders and turned her nose up before stomping off the stage. Tom let out another exasperated groan. This day could not get any longer. And so it went on…

After the last girl had left they retired to their rented office across the street from the theater. Tom collapsed into his chair and allowed his shoulders to slump and his head to fall back as he staring at the cracked ceiling in despair.

"Between this week and the last, we must have seen every single girl in Knockturn!" he complained. "How is there not a _single_ witch who can pass for Hermione Black?"

Abraxas didn't answer; instead he just reached into his robes and pulled out his flask of firewhiskey, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to Tom. Tom accepted it and took a swig, vainly hoping the alcohol would burn away his problems as it burned down his throat. When he finished, he handed it back to Abraxas, who took his own long drink.

"So what now?" Abraxas said once he'd swallowed, looking at Tom. "Do we keep searching?"

"The money's too good to stop," Tom said, letting his eyes fall closed as a sense of despair washed over him. "If we have to, we can widen the search. Try some of the surrounding villages. _Why_ is there a shortage of curly-haired brunettes in a seventeen to twenty age bracket? You would think it wouldn't be so—"

He was interrupted by the loud bang of the light wooden door of their rented room being pushed open with far too much force. He and Abraxas spun around to face the intruder. Tom's hand instinctively grasped at the wand concealed in his pocket, but when he saw that the figure standing in the doorway was only a disheveled young woman, he relaxed his grip on his weapon and began to consider her.

The girl was nothing short of common and plain; she had frizzy brown curls that looked as though they hadn't seen a brush in a year and were doing their best to escape the confines of the headband that held them back. Her nose was the slightest bit upturned, and a light smattering of freckles dusted across her features. Her front teeth were a rather large, and were currently employed in nervously chewing on her bottom lip. Yet her eyes were bright and burning with a bold, determined light. It was hard to assess her figure as she was dressed in drab clothes of coarse brown fabric that hung shapelessly off her body, but she seemed rather lithe and petite. On one arm she'd hung a worn basket covered with a tattered red cloth, and in the other she held a writhing mass of ginger-colored fur that took Tom a full thirty seconds to identify as a large, ugly cat.

"Excuse us," Abraxas sniffed, giving the intruder and her pet one of his haughty, aristocratic glares, a leftover from his upbringing. "This is a _private_ space! I'm not sure why that door was unlocked, but you're not supposed to be here, and if you do not remove yourself this instant, my colleague and I will be forced to—"

Tom cut his partner off by holding up a hand as pushed his chair back and stood up. He slowly walked across the room towards the girl, who stared at him for a moment before stammering out,

"Are- are you Tom Riddle?"

He cocked his head a bit, slowly starting to walk around her, his eyes sweeping up and down over her features. Was there something there? The hair was right, and her features, though plain, could reasonably be argued to resemble those of Sirius Black's muggle paramour… A change of clothes, a new hairstyle, and a few etiquette lessons _might_ just render a complete transfiguration, one that could come close to being what they need… "Perhaps I am," he drawled after letting the silence hang for a minute. "That would depend entirely on why you want to see him."

Frowning, the girl twisted her head around to follow his movements and huffed slightly. "Look, I don't want to make any trouble for anyone. I just need to get to London, and I'm told that a man by the name of Tom Riddle is the one to see about it—hey, _why_ are you circling me like that?" she cried. She whipped around to face him and released her grip on her cat so she could place a hand on her hip. "What, were you an owl in another life?"

Tom stopped his pacing and brought his hand up to his face, making a show of pensively stroking his chin while really attempting to mask the wicked grin that had spread across his features. And here he'd just about been ready to give in to despair! "I'm sorry, it's just you look an awful lot like…" he shook his head. "Never mind. Tell me, my dear—" he paused and frowned. "What did you say your name was, again?"

The girl looked at him suspiciously, but he just responded by giving her one of his wide, charming smiles, and after a moment, she cautiously replied, "well, I didn't, but I'm Emma."

Tom quirked one eyebrow. "Emma what?"

Her face clouded over with a look of longing. "Well, that's just it, I don't really know. I'm an orphan, you see, and I don't know who my family was. I have no memories of my childhood, and have been alone for as long as I can remember… That's why I need to go to London!" she proclaimed as her free hand moved to clasp what appeared to be some locket hanging around her neck. "It's the only clue I have to my true identity!"

A veritable orphan with no identity? How convenient! Tom looked towards Abraxas and saw the realization slowly creeping into the other man's eyes. He tried to keep his smirk relatively innocent as he looked back at their visitor.

"People were right to send you to me, Emma. You see, I _do_ have the resources to get people to London," Tom said, keeping his tone careful and even despite his racing excitement. "Three people, in fact. Me, Mr. Malfoy over there, and Hermione Black."

Emma's eyes grew wide. "Hermione Black?" she cried incredulously. "But—look, I know there've been lots of rumors lately, but isn't she dead?"

"On the contrary, Miss Emma." Abraxas finally joined the conversation, coming over to stand besides Tom and placing a hand on his colleague's shoulder. "Tom here can personally attest to the fact that she is indeed alive; he was present in Black Manor the night of the attack."

Emma blinked, and then looked at Tom, caution and suspicion now lighting up her gaze. "Oh really? That's awfully convenient, isn't it?"

Tom smiled indulgently. "Nevertheless, it's true. My mother was a servant in their household, and I was kept around as a… playmate of sorts for the young Miss Black. It was actually through my assistance that she escaped, although I unfortunately lost track of her afterwards."

Emma snorted, and even had the audacity to roll her eyes. "Right. Sure. And before the Revolution, I was best of friends with Ariana Dumbledore! I'd still be writing her today, you know, if I could get an owl out of Knockturn."

Tom gritted his teeth. He couldn't help being the slightest bit offended at her unwillingness to believe his story; he lied about many things in his life without qualm, but for once he was actually telling the truth! However, his genial facade needed to be maintained if he wanted to charm her into cooperating, so he forced a smile and said calmly, "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. Hermione Black _is_ alive, and Abraxas and I have set out to find her and restore her to her family. My resources are limited, and I'm afraid I don't have enough magic to get more than the three of us into London."

Emma's face fell for a moment, before she shook her head and fiery determination lit up her eyes once more. "That's alright, I don't need you to _bring_ me to London. If you just tell me how to get past the guards, I'm sure I can figure out the rest on my—"

"Do you have money?" Tom interrupted, knowing full well what her answer would be. She paused before slowly shaking her head.

"No, but I can—"

"Do you think my knowledge of the Order's weaknesses was so easily gotten that I can afford to give it away for free?" he asked calmly. He wanted to smirk at her crestfallen expression, but to his surprise, her dejection lasted only a second before she scowled and straightened her shoulders, and said firmly,

"I can see that you'll be of no help to me; very well, I'll just go find someone else! Crookshanks, where did you—Crookshanks, get away from him!" Emma bent down to retrieve her ginger beast from where it was vigorously rubbing itself against a mortified Abraxas' legs, leaving behind a mess of orange fur that Tom knew he'd be hearing complaints about for weeks. As the girl was muttering an apology to the scandalized former aristocrat, Tom decided it was time to move things along.

"You know, Emma, I'm not sure you've really _thought_ about everything I've said," he began, giving her another another innocent smile as he reached out to stroke her cat's head. It hissed, so he quickly withdrew his hand.

Emma's brows knitted together as she attempted to sooth the angry feline in her arms. "What do you mean?"

"Well, here you are, looking for your home, at the same time that everyone else is looking for the poor, lost heiress to the most ancient and noble of the pureblood houses. Has it not even occurred to you that there might be a reason for that? That the answer to both questions might be one in the same?"

A stray curl had fallen into Emma's face, and with her arms full of the struggling Crookshanks, she had become distracted by trying to blow it out of the way, but as Tom's words sunk in, she stopped and allowed it to fall across her eyes as she gaped at him incredulously.

"Wait, are you trying to say you think _I'm_ Hermione Black?"

"Think about it, Miss Emma," Abraxas said. "The greatest mystery of the age just happens to arise at the same time as you attempt to answer such a vital question about yourself? And besides, you've got the Black family look about you!" He gestured towards her form.

"Regulus's smile!" Tom offered.

Abraxas smirked. "And Bellatrix's hair!"

Tom reached out to take ahold of the girl's chin and tilted her head from one side to the other. "You're the right age, the right stature, I'm telling you, Emma, you could be the one they're looking—"

"Mr. Riddle!" Emma cried out, her voice suddenly shrill as she stepped out of his reach. "This is absolutely ridiculous! I would think I would _know_ if I was the daughter of a sacred twenty-eight family, don't you?"

"Ah, but don't you have no ideawho your family really is?" Tom said, giving her a pointed look. "You could be _anyone_ , couldn't you? A Smith, a Boot, even a Black!"

Emma's mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times as she shook her head, looking between Tom and Abraxas and backing up towards the door. "I heard you were sketchy, but they never mentioned the fact that you're _insane_!"

"There's no need to resort to such name-calling," Abraxas chided, frowning at her. "We're simply stating a very real possibility. What with all the rumors, it's a wonder you hadn't considered it yourself!"

Emma scoffed. "Come on! I mean, look at me! No one in their right mind would think that _I_ was a descendant of the Black family. The pair of you are downright delusional!"

Despite her words, Tom could see the slightest bit of doubt or confusion in her eyes, and he knew he'd have her hooked. Even if she truly couldn't be convinced she was Hermione Black, she'd have to be dumb not to play along, since he would get her to London if she did. Now all that remained was the final push, and for that, he'd utilize a bit of reverse psychology…

"Well if that's what you truly think, that I suppose it's for the best," Tom said, lacing his voice with notes of regret. "We really must save our resources for Hermione Black; I'm sure you understand. It's a shame we couldn't get you to London, but, _c'est la vie_!" Tom stepped over to the door and opened it while she stared at him. He gently put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her out into the hallway, smiling cheerfully once more. "Good luck with your search for an identity!" With that, he pulled the door closed, shutting her out of the room.

"Riddle! What are you doing!" Abraxas hissed, giving his business partner a glare. "You just pushed away the _perfect_ Hermione—"

Tom smirked. "Wait for it," he murmured, leaning against the wall. Abraxas threw his hands up in the air, but ten seconds later, three sharp raps sounded from the other side of the door. Tom winked at the other man before pulling it open again.

"Well, since I don't have any memories of my life before the orphanage, I can't really say that I'm _not_ Hermione Black, you know?" Emma said as she pushed her way back into the room. Her cat jumped out of her arms again as she began to pace around. "And if you think so, then really what's the harm in going with you to London to see? The Blacks would certainly be able to tell if I'm related to them, so if I'm not, it'll be fine!"

"I'm pleased you could see things our way, Emma," Tom said, managing to throw a satisfied smirk Abraxas' way without the girl seeing.

"Indeed! I must say, it's an honor to be the one restoring you to your rightful place, Lady Black," Abraxas said, holding out his arm to her. "Come, why don't we sit down and discuss the particulars of our endeavor?"

Emma eyed his proffered arm for a long minute before tentatively accepting it. Abraxas led her over to their table and pulled out a chair in an imitation of a gentlemanly gesture. As they were getting situated, Tom shut the door and secured it against any possible intruders or eavesdroppers. One couldn't be too paranoid in a place like Knockturn; it was actually a sign of how exhausted he'd been earlier that he'd forgotten and Emma had been able to get in.

Once that was done, he made his way over to where Abraxas was busy pouring some tea to Emma, whose hands he kept swatting away as she tried to assist him.

"You must learn to _be_ served, Miss Emma." he chided. "You're a Black, after all."

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes, but accepted the chipped china cup from the pale blonde wizard. Tom took the seat to her left, and folded his hands on the table. "Now, my dear, why don't you tell us a little about yourself—well, what you remember, that is. Where have you—"

" _Mreow._ " All of the sudden, there was the sound of a scuffle in the corner, and a moment later, Emma's mangy cat trotted over to where the three humans were sitting. In its mouth it was holding a struggling, slightly bloodied grey rat.

Tom would have thought that Emma might be disturbed by the sight of the rodent, but to his surprise, she started cooing. "Oh, clever Crookshanks! Look at you, you caught the big mean rat all by yourself!"  
Abraxas had turned even paler than usual and his hand flew to cover his heart. "My Lady! I am utterly mortified that you there was such a disgusting creature in your presence! I promise, in the future, your accommodations will be much more befitting a lady of your status!"

Tom chuckled at his colleague's ruffled composure, inclined to be amused by the whole incident, especially since Emma didn't seem bothered in the least. However, his good humor evaporated quickly when Crookshanks jumped up onto the table and dropped the still wriggling rat into his lap.

The shock at having a bloody rodent land on his person was so great that he couldn't help shouting out and jerking back, which unfortunately caused his chair to go flying back and he ended up sprawled out on the floor. The rat took advantage of his confusion to make a dash towards freedom, slinking away into a hole in the wall before Crookshanks could go after him again.

"My word!" Abraxas cried as Tom pulled himself up and tried to regain his composure. It didn't help that the girl Emma had dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "What sort of a display was _that_ , Riddle?"

Tom glared at his business partner sourly. "Watch it, Malfoy," he growled, righting his chair and sitting back down. The cat was now sitting in the center of the table and swishing its long bushy tail across all of their papers. It fixed Tom with what he imagined was a reproachful look. Its mistress was still overcome with mirth at Tom's episode, but between bouts of laughter she managed to get out,

"I'm sorry, Mr. Riddle. Crookshanks only found me two days ago, and I haven't had the time to teach him proper manners—"

"You mean this creature is a stray?" Abraxas looked like he might have a fit from the scandal of it. "What if it's carrying diseases? It certainly is not a suitable companion for a young lady; it must go back out to the streets at once!

Tom just rolled his eyes. "These days, everyone's a stray in Knockturn. We can hardly throw them out based on that alone. Still," he added, frowning at Emma. "If it's going to be around, keep it under control."

Emma giggled again, but she did reach out and pick the bushy orange cat up, bringing him into her lap.

"Now that that's settled," Tom said as he smoothed back his ruffled hair and then folded his hands on the table, smiling widely at this unremarkable girl who could be the key to the biggest profit of his lifetime. "Let's get down to business."


	2. Chapter 2

"Two sugars or three, Miss Black?" Abraxas asked as he poured her a cup of tea for the hundredthtime since she'd met him.

Emma snorted at the fussy blonde wizard's continued insistence on addressing her as "Hermione Black". Ever since she'd begun 'pure-blood' lessons with Malfoy, he'd been treating her with excessive graciousness, always holding open doors and pulling out her chair, endlessly apologizing for the most trivial things that might have "inconvenienced" her, treating her as if she were made of glass. It was a far cry from her previous life at the orphanage, and frankly she found it ridiculous.

"I'll take two, if you please," she replied, making a point of drawing her voice into an exaggerated drawl. "And I _do_ so hope the tea won't be too hot for my delicate lips to sip; 'twould be tragic if I were scalded!"

Abraxas frowned at her as he stirred the sugars into her cup, but his polite little scowl only made her burst out laughing; he _really_ couldn't do intimidating looks, not in a way that could actually affect Emma, who'd spent the last twelve years in the harsh world of Knockturn orphans.

"Emma!" he chided, straightening up to his full height and furrowing his brows indignantly. "In the name of Merlin, _please_ take this seriously! I'm trying to accomplish the impossible task of making a bushy-haired street rat pass as a well-bred Lady, and your lack of commitment is making endeavor all the more Sisyphean!"

Emma considered making some further teasing comment, but decided against it; she had generally determined that whenever he forgot their charade and used her real name, she'd pushed his patience far enough, at least for the time being. Instead she managed to choke down her laughter, before demurely fluttering her eyelashes at Abraxas and giving him her best apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Abraxas. I'll try harder from now on, I promise." Then she tilted her head curiously. "What does 'Sisyphean' mean?"

Abraxas huffed and rolled his eyes. "It's a term that references classical mythology and describes an impossible task, such as rolling a boulder up a steep mountain or teaching you to pass in polite society. Honestly, what was Tom thinking…" he muttered, shaking his head. "There's no way in hell you'll be able to learn all of this in time. They'll turn you away at the door before you even get a chance to speak to Sirius!"

Emma furrowed her brow. She hadn't heard about any sort of deadline on their project. "Learn this in time for what?"

Abraxas' eyes widened for a moment, and he cleared his throat before sitting back down and taking up his own cup of tea. "Nevermind that, Tom wants us to move quickly is all. He's getting sick of being stuck in Knockturn, as am I. And I'm sure you are, too. Come, drink before your tea gets cold; it's impolite to have to reheat your beverage."

"Hmmm." Emma lifted her teacup up to her lips and blew on it to cool it off while turning over what Abraxas had just said in her mind. If there wassome sort of time limit for this, she wasn't sure how it would go. She was certain she _could_ learn all of this high-class manners nonsense, she could learn anything she put her mind to after all, but she wasn't necessarily sure she could do it _quickly_. It was all so… different from her way of life. And most of it was, in her opinion, superfluous.

She'd learned that word from Abraxas the other day, and she really liked it. It was pretty, fun to say, and applied to many of the haughty pureblood's actions, a fact that she'd not hesitated to inform him of. Emma liked many of the words he'd taught her, actually. She enjoyed having different ways to express herself, and Abraxas was of the mind that slipping into Knockturn slang was unsuitable if she wanted to become Hermione Black, so he was always willing to explain what unfamiliar words meant. Her vocabulary had improved a lot over the past few weeks… if only the same could be said of her "comportment".

Her tea was finally cool enough, so she started sipping it, only to be stopped by Abraxas glaring daggers at her. Emma realized that she'd been slurping loud enough for him to hear. She grinned sheepishly and set her teacup back down.

"Howmany times have I told you, I should not _hear_ you when you eat or drink!" he snapped, and she sighed.

"I know, I just forgot! I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"Of course it will," Abraxas grumbled before taking a long, _silent_ drink from his own cup.

Emma huffed indignantly; she thought he was being needlessly pessimistic (she'd learned that one from Tom, actually, when he'd applied to Abraxas in a similar situation) and was about to tell him so, when the sound of the office door banging open drew both their attention. Twisting around in her seat, Emma saw Tom himself sweep into the office, a cloud of snowflakes swirling in his wake and spilling into the room until he slammed the door shut behind him.

Abraxas set his teacup down with a soft _clink_. "You're back early."

"The blizzard started earlier than expected," he muttered, a dark expression marring his face as he started to unwind the long woolen scarf from around his neck. "The black market's _outdoors_ , nobody's going to do business with me when they're freezing their dicks off."

"Riddle! _Language_! There is a _Lady_ present."

Normally, Tom was almost as committed to keeping up the charade about Emma as Abraxas, but today he must have been in a foul mood, because he just glanced at Emma and scowled. "She doesn't care, she's heard worse."

That was true. Emma met his eyes and offered him a small conciliatory smile, but that just caused his scowl to deepen, and he turned away as he shed his cloak and hung it on the hook next to the door.

Emma sighed, and then glanced at Abraxas curiously. "What are you trying to do at the black market?"

"That's none of your concern," Tom said sharply before his partner could reply.

Emma looked back at Tom and frowned. "I was just curious. I'm not judging you two; it's not as though I've never been there myself."

Tom scoffed as he came over to join them at the table and pulled out a chair. "Trust me, I wasn't worried about your _judgement_. My secrets are mine to keep; if you needed to know something, we would tell you."

"And besides, illicit business is no proper concern of a Lady," Abraxas added, giving Emma a look of admonishment as he poured out a cup of tea for Tom. "I should hope when we get to London you're more conscious of what appropriate conversation is."

Emma's jaw dropped. Had he actually just said that to her? Who was he to limit what she could and couldn't know? "I'll ask whatever questions I want, thank you very much! _Honestly_ , can't a girl be curious about what her friends are up to?"  
"Who said we're friends?" Tom muttered darkly as he retrieved a flask from his waistcoat pocket and poured some of its no-doubt alcoholic contents into his teacup.

Emma blinked at him, and then lifted her chin and sniffed haughtily. "I suppose we're not, really." That's right, all she was to them was a _business opportunity_. How foolish she was to forget it.

Well that was fine; she didn't _need_ these two men to be her friends, didn't need them to like her. She had herself, Crookshanks, and as soon as she got to London, she'd have her family. Because even though she was sure she wasn't Hermione Black, she _did_ have a family in London, of that much she was sure.

But just because she didn't need them to be friendly with her didn't mean they shouldn't be civil, nor that she had to put up with them when they weren't. If they were just going to be difficult, then she was done with 'lessons' for the day. "If there's a storm, then I should be getting home before it gets any worse," Emma declared, pushing back her chair and standing up. Upon her pronouncement, Crookshanks dashed out from behind the cabinets he'd taken to sleeping behind and ran over to the door.

"Are you certain you should be walking in such inclement weather?" Abraxas said, furrowing his brow and standing up as well. "You'll freeze to death."

"Oh, I'll be fine," she replied, walking over to the door to retrieve her cloak, hat, and scarf. "Don't waste your concern on _me_ anyway; save it for your friends."

"Now, Emma—"

"We're meeting again on Wednesday, correct?" she said, cutting Abraxas off before he could make an empty apology for Tom's harsh words. She glanced over her shoulders as she put on her cloak and saw Abraxas glowering at Tom, who just downed the contents of his mug unapologetically.

"Yes, we are. And hopefully by then we'll _all_ be in a better, more productive mood."

After she'd tied on her scarf, Emma threw one last dark look in Tom's direction. "I look forward to it."

"But seriously, Emma, there's a blizzard, why don't you—"

" _Farewell_ , Abraxas," Emma said brusquely, bending down to scoop up Crookshanks and then pushing her way out the door and into the cold.

While she'd decided to leave to get away from the men, Emma was actually thankful she had not waited to start her journey any longer; the snow had already accumulated enough to reach past her ankles, and the blustering precipitation showed no signs of letting up any time soon. Thankfully, the wind would be to her back as she walked, not blowing into her face, so she was confident she could make it home safely. After ensuring that Crookshanks was securely wrapped in her cloak, she set off up the street. It was a little more work than usual to trudge through the snow, but she would manage.

She'd been walking for perhaps five minutes when she heard a voice calling out from behind her. "Emma! Emma, stop!"

Emma pulled her scarf tightly around her face and turned around, squinting into the wind to make out the dark figure approaching quickly. As they got closer, she was able to recognize a bundled-up Tom Riddle pushing his way through the snow.

Now _why_ was this idiot following her? She glanced around and noticed a small sheltered area between buildings and darted over to it. Tom followed, and when he was standing close enough to hear her over the roaring blizzard, she pulled her scarf away from her mouth and said, "what are you doing? You just got back from walking in this!"  
The look he gave her was disapproving and slightly resentful. "Abraxas made me come see you home; our entire plan goes to hell if you die of hypothermia, after all."

"I'll be fine!" Emma snapped. She was growing tired of these two men's constant nagging disguised as concern! She'd seen after herself her entire life, she didn't needtheir protection. That wasn't what she'd sought them out for, and if she'd known what their relationship would turn into, then she wouldn't have entered it in the first place!

Tom just stared at her impassively. "Still; best ensure your safe arrival." His tone left no room for argument. And honestly, she didn't have the time or energy.

"Suit yourself," Emma grumbled before pulling her scarf back over her face, adjusting her hold on Crookshanks, and then stepping back out into the wind. Again she trudged through the accumulating snow, this time with Tom Riddle following close behind. He must still have been in a sour mood, and she herself wasn't feeling all that chatty, so they made the journey in a peaceful if not awkward silence.

When they reached the end of Borgin Street and she turned down an old path lined with trees, Tom suddenly spoke. "Where are we going? No one lives up there."

Emma kept her response curt as she continued down the road; the way to her house had at one time been paved smooth, but now the stones were uneven and in this snowfall she had to step carefully or risk a trip that might crush Crookshanks. "I do."

"You couldn't possibly!"

She gritted her teeth and turned around. Tom was still standing at the juncture in the road, the wind causing his cloak to billow dramatically to the side. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and his expression was one of stern disbelief. "I can and I do, Mr. Riddle. My house is right up ahead, so if you'd rather not go out of your way, feel free to turn around. Otherwise, I was enjoying the silence and you've just killed it." Emma spun around and resumed her walk, gritting her teeth when she heard hasty footfalls behind her.

After about five more minutes along the path that led them further and further away from the city center, she heard Tom grumble, "How much further is it, anyway?."

Emma absentmindedly buried her fingers in Crookshanks' fur in an attempt to warm them up. "We're almost there, it's right around that bend," she informed him. "You trulydon't have to come if you don't want."

"Oh, no, I'm coming," Tom said seriously, taking a few large strides so that he closed the distance between them and was walking beside her. "Because I know for a _fact_ that you must be lying about your house being over here, and I intend to see you proved wrong. As I said before, _no one_ lives down this way. This is where the Old Manors are, and they're so heavily warded that no one's been inside since they were abandoned twelve years ago!"

"Is that so?" In a few steps they'd made it around the last bend in the path and the treeline broke, revealing a row of large houses, each guarded by an imposing iron fence. They would have once been beautiful buildings, but now they'd fallen into disrepair and looked about as derelict as everything else in Knockturn. Emma walked in the direction of the first house on the right, notable for its faded and chipped green paint and large, broken stained-glass windows on the first level. She didn't go up to the front gate; instead, Emma led them off the road through the blanket of snow, skirting the perimeter of the fence until they came to a place where a few bars had rusted away and left a hole just big enough for a person to climb through.

"This is the entrance," she said, gesturing towards it. "I just pop through there, and I'm in." She paused for a moment, and noticing how a melting layer of snow had accumulated on the top of Tom's head and shoulders, she sighed. "I suppose you should come in too and warm up before heading back to Abraxas."

Tom looked at the fence and then back at her, furrowing his brow. "This is the boundary of the wards, they should stop you from going any further."

Emma frowned. "I'm not lying; why would I lead you all the way out here, in a blizzard, to pretend to be able to go somewhere I can't?"

"I suppose you have a point," he said after a moment. "Go on then, prove me wrong."

Emma loosened her grip on Crookshanks and set him on the ground, and the large feline wasted no time in dashing through the fence and running off through the yard on the other side. Emma bent down and slipped through after him.

Grinning victoriously she turned around in time to see Tom pushing himself through the fence. His shoulders were broader than hers, so he had to enter at an angle, and it still looked like a bit of a squeeze, but he made it. Once he was standing firmly on the inside of the fence, he stared up at the house with a strange look on his features. Awe, maybe?

"I can't believe it, the wards have worn away…" he murmured as his gaze swept over the building and the yard. "I wonder how long they've been open."

Emma shrugged. "I wouldn't know anything about that." No one would bother to teach a penniless orphan about something as obscure and interesting as warding magic, after all. "Now are you coming in, or not? I'm getting cold, and Crookshanks is going to get soaked to the bone in this weather."

Tom blinked, snapping out of his daze."Yes, show me how you get into the actual house," he said, his words taking on the tone of a command. Emma rolled her eyes, but turned and started heading towards the back of the house where the cellar door was.

To her dismay, when they got there she found the wind had been blowing at just the wrong angle to cover the entrance with a thick snowbank. "Well the door's under there, but we're going to have to move this snow first." As she spoke, she knelt down and started to scoop it away with her arms.

Behind her, Tom cleared his throat. She looked back over her shoulder at him and glared.

"What? Aren't you going to help me?"

He raised one eyebrow at her and smiled slightly. "Of course I am, but might I suggest we do this the easy way, instead of spending five minutes shoveling snow by hand?"

"What's the easy way?"

At this he smirked, and from inside his cloak he pulled out a long, bone-white wand and waved it in front of her face. "I trust you know what this is?'

Emma's jaw dropped. The only wizards or witches she knew of that _actually_ had their own wands were the Order officials who guarded the borders and distributed rations to the citizens of Knockturn. All other wands in the closed-off city were the property of some institution, and use of them was divided up based on need. The orphanage she'd grown up at had three wands, and time to practice with them had to be split between fifty or so children, so it had been rare for her to hold a wand more than once a month. Now that she had left, she wouldn't even get that luxury.

"How on _earth_ did you get your own wand? Did you steal it from an Order guard?" She regretted the words immediately, because there was a high likelihood that a criminal such as Tom Riddle had indeed stolen it, and she wasn't sure she actually wanted to know that; crimes against the Order were punished severely, after all.

To her surprise, however, Tom frowned and said, "for your information, this wand was purchased honestly from a wandmaker in London, by my mother as a birthday present! And even if she hadn't gotten this for me, I wouldn't have had to resort to something as base as _thievery_ to acquire a proper wand. The black market has plenty of them for sale, if you know who to ask. Now stand aside, and let me show you how a _real_ wizard gets things done."

Emma scrambled up and moved out of the way, and Tom began to mutter unfamiliar incantations under his breath. The tip of his wand started to glow with red light and radiate heat waves that swiftly melted the snow. Within moments, they could see the wooden door appear from underneath the shrinking white blanket. Once it was fully clear, Tom ended his spell and pocketed his wand again.

"What was that spell?" Emma asked as she leaned down to grasp the handle of the cellar door. When she started to pull, she discovered that it was stuck, perhaps due to ice melting into the cracks and freezing .

"Just your average heating charm; simple but effective," Tom said, his voice smug as he watched her struggle. "Why? Did they not teach that at your orphanage school?"

With a last firm yank, the door finally flew open, revealing the staircase descending into the basement. Crookshanks, who'd been sitting against the side of the house observing her, darted forwards and disappeared down the stairs. Emma started after him while saying over her shoulder, "The spells we learned were quite basic, and there were so many of us that we got very little time with the school wands."

"That's unfortunate, I suppose," Tom remarked as he pulled the door shut behind him. "Why do you use the cellar door?"

"All the others are spelled shut, I can't get through," Emma admitted. The stairs creaked under their feet as they descended into the basement, and when they reached the bottom of the staircase, she gestured to the room in front of them and was unable to keep a hint of pride out of her voice. "Well, this is it!"

The spacious room had originally been cluttered with dirty chests and boxes, but Emma had pushed them up against the walls cleaned off most of the dust and cobwebs. The walls themselves were covered in dark wooden paneling that gave the room a warm, closed in feel, although small windows up at ground level let in enough natural light to see. The best part was the wood-burning stove in the corner that she'd discovered was functional, along with some firekeeping tools; it was next to this that she'd laid down her bed, a nest of the best sheets and canvases she'd found littered throughout the basement.

Crookshanks had already curled up in the bed, although his head was lifted enough to fix her with a piercing stare as his ears flicked in annoyance. The way his wet fur clung to his body roused Emma's immediate pity. "Poor Crookshanks! Let me get the fire started for you," she said. Once she'd shed her cloak, she went over to kneel by the stove and get the fire going. She'd discovered that some of the wooden crates in various parts of the basement had rotted due to moisture, so she'd collected them and broken them down for fuel. And two weeks ago, she'd managed to duck into the black market and pick up a couple packages of matches, so she and Crookshanks were going to be warm for a good long while.

Tom had disappeared into some of the rooms connected with hers, but now he returned. "You live down _here_?" he asked, his lips curling at her makeshift living space. "What's wrong with upstairs?"

Emma placed the last piece of wood into the fireplace and then proceeded to strike a match; this she held up to the edge of the thinnest wooden plank, waiting for it to catch flame. "Like I said, all the doors are spelled shut. The one leading out of the basement is no exception; without a proper wand, it's hopeless. But there's plenty of room for Crookshanks and me down here, and it's nicer than the orphanage ever was, so I don't really mind—Tom! Come back here!"

Tom had taken off in the middle of her speech, heading in the direction of the staircase that led up to the rest of the abandoned house. Moments later she heard the sound of heavy footfalls hurrying up the steps. Emma muttered a curse and tossed the match into the fireplace before pushing herself up and hurrying after him. When she reached the stairs, it was to find them empty, and the door at the top opened to reveal the dark upper floor.

Honestly, how rude! Perhaps Abraxas needed to be giving manners lessons to Tom instead of her. Even she knew it was impolite to walk away when someone was speaking and go off alone into their home… although given that she'd never set foot upstairs, she felt a bit odd about considering that part of the house 'hers' as well. But still; he should have _asked_ her if she wanted him to open that door!

Emma quickly mounted the staircase, hoping to catch up to Tom so she could give him a piece of her mind before he started poking around this abandoned manor and disturbing who knows what. This was exactly the sort of place you heard about ghouls and boggarts and ghosts and all sorts of other nasty dark creatures moving into after humans had left it behind, that was part of the reason she'd not been bothered by the door remaining sealed; if she couldn't get through it, then neither could threatening beings.

With that possibility in mind, Emma tentatively stepped off the stairs and into the shadowy hallway. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, but she found that she could make out the outline of the hall and the shapes of what looked like tables. It seemed a bit brighter to the left than the right, so she started heading in that direction, hoping that what she was seeing was dim light from Tom's lit wand.

She had hoped to move silently and avoid the attention of anything sinister living on this floor, but almost every step she took caused the wooden floor below her to creak loudly, and the heavy silence blanketing the house only magnified it. Emma tried to slowly feel her way along the wall and avoid running into anything, but this turned out to be a bad idea as she bumped into a small table. She swore loudly, and seconds later something glass shattered on the ground. Her actions had also upset a cloud of musty dust, which she accidentally inhaled and then dissolved into a fit of coughing.

As she was bent over hacking up a lung, her eyes were drawn to a dim golden light visible under the crack of a door a few steps away. Could that be Tom? Once she'd managed to recover her breathing, she hurried over to it and slid her hands over the door until she located the handle. It turned easily, and she pushed the door open.

Tom was not in there; instead, she saw the source of the light to be a large, bulky object in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Some sort of canvas was draped over it, but its light was bright enough to shine through its covering.

 _Magic_.

There was an actual magical item here, in her own home! As far as she knew, most of the standard magical items wizards used to have had been removed from the city before it was sealed. In her time, she'd only ever seen a few wands, a chipped crystal ball, and the enchanted scales at the ration delivery center that told the officials how much every person got. Whatever this was, it looked to be far more powerful and infinitely more interesting.

Emma strode over to it and eagerly grasped the canvas sheet, removing it with a single tug. As it fell away, she gasped and took a step back. Before her was a large mirror, reaching almost to the ceiling. Its edges were decorated with ornate carvings in gold. The glass glowed with its strange golden light that was almost too bright to look at directly, but when she managed to peer through it and focus on her reflection, she had to gasp again.

The person in the mirror was… not her. Well, it _was_ her, sort of. She had Emma's face, but it was more rosy and plump, as if it hadn't known years of hunger. Her hair was the same color, but it was more sleek and looked _softer_ somehow, and the riotous curls had been twisted into a smooth, elegant knot atop her head. She wore an elaborate, almost sparkling golden gown that reached down to the floor and trailed out behind her, and a string of jewels glittered on her throat.

Emma's mouth fell open slightly and she reached to place a hand on her own neck; she felt nothing but bare skin. This other version of her mimicked her movements, but her slender, gloved hand was placed over the jewelry. This beautiful creature wearing her face beamed at plain, shabby Emma and revealed a row of even, pearly white teeth.

Who _was_ this other version of her? What was the mirror showing? Surely not the future; this sort of luxury was far outside of anything Emma could ever aspire to!

Then she noticed that it wasn't just mirror-Emma that was different; the setting behind her was changed, too. Instead of the dark, musty manor, there was an opulent ballroom, lit up with an almost rosy light by grand crystal chandeliers and lined with pristine marble columns. As Emma watched, more and more people materialized into the room and joined together in a swirling dance. There were both men and women, and every one of them was dressed just as elegantly as her mirror self was. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, and soon she started to feel a bit dizzy as she watched the colorful array of skirts spinning around the ankles of the women moving from partner to partner. Even when she tried to focus, Emma couldn't make out any individual faces in the crowd, although she was overcome with the firm conviction that all of them were smiling and laughing and having the most wonderful time at that ball.

Another person appeared next to mirror-Emma, a tall, handsome man with dark wavy hair and bright blue eyes. He wore traditional wizard dress robes, similar to ones Emma had once seen in a picture book. Something about him niggled at the back of her mind, and she got the sense that he was… familiar, somehow. The whole scene really, but this man especially, caused some sort of deep, aching longing to rise up in Emma's chest. It was… nostalgia, almost, but for something she never could have experienced.

The man smiled and tapped her mirror self on the shoulder, and the other Emma spun to face him, her skirt swishing around her legs. When she saw him, her face lit up with joy and she threw her arms around his neck. His face twisted in what looked like laughter, and he pushed her back to hold her at arm's' length. His lips moved silently as he held an arm out in invitation, and the grinning mirror-Emma nodded as she placed one of her arms on his. Without another glance back, the two of them walked away, disappearing into the sea of dancers and leaving the real Emma feeling suddenly lonely and abandoned on her side of the mirror.

It was by far the warmest, most inviting scene Emma had ever laid eyes on. She found herself suddenly envious of that pretty, well-kempt mirror-Emma, who got to inhabit this splendid wonderland, to dress up in ballgowns and dance with people who cherished her.

She knew it couldn't be, but it just seemed so _real_! Emma swore she could even hear the distant sounds of laughter, and strains of a melody that moved in time with the dancers—perhaps this wasn't a mirror? Perhaps it was a window into another world, a place that really existed! Maybe… maybe she could somehow get through? Leave cold and dreary Knockturn behind forever, and enter this rich, happy fantasy world.

Emma reached out and gently placed one hand on the glass. To her surprise, it wasn't the hard surface she expected, but something soft and malleable, like the surface of a half-frozen pond. With quickening breath she started to push, and watched in amazement as the glass began to warp and ripple outwards from her fingers. Slowly, it started to give around her skin, and her hand slipped into the mirror. It was softer than she'd expected it to be, brushing over her skin like warm velvet… Almost her whole arm was inside the mirror now, and she took a step forwards, ready to fully engulf herself in that lovely scene—

"Bloody hell! Emma, get away from that!"

A pair of rough hands grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her back, pulling her out of the glass. She fell backwards and landed on the ground, _hard_. The shock jolted her and she blinked, feeling as though a heavy fog was lifting from her mind.

Tom glared down at her, his disapproving look illuminated by the silver light from his wand tip. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing? Don't you know that pureblood houses are filled with dark, cursed items? Why would you go around and start _touching_ things?"

Emma frowned and looked around the room, only just then remembering where she was. "What… what just happened?" she murmured, furrowing her brows. She looked at the mirror again, but the ballroom scene had vanished, and it had gone back to emitting that strange golden light that had drawn her in in the first place.

She pushed herself up and stepped closer to the mirror, trying to peer into it and see her mirror self. But just as her eyes were adjusting again and she was starting to make out a form, Tom yanked on her shoulder again, pulling her back and spinning her around to face him.

"This is obviously some sort of trap, you idiot!" he snapped, scowling at her. "It entrances you with visions and tricks you into entering it."

"I was entranced?" Emma glanced back at the mirror again, although this time she was careful not to stare into the light too long. "What would have happened if I'd gone inside?"

"Nothing good, I assure you," Tom muttered, taking her by the arm and pulling her over towards the door. Once they were in the hallway, he released her and shut the door behind them. Then he pointed his wand at it and said an unfamiliar spell. "There, that should keep you out of there," he said once it was done, taking a step back and giving her another cool look.

Emma scoffed and set her hands on her hips. "Excuse you! Who are _you_ to decide where I can and can't go, in my own home?"

"This _isn't_ your home, Emma!" Tom said, turning and starting to walk back in the direction of the basement door. "This manor belongs to one of the sacred twenty-eight families, you're just a lucky squatter. You have _no idea_ what dangers lurk in here, and you don't even have a wand to protect yourself should you run into them!"

While he had a point, Emma didn't appreciate his high-handedness and condescending tone. She followed him, this time taking heavy steps and appreciating how the creaky floorboard accented her movements; it did a good job of loudly demonstrating her anger. He'd stopped at the top of the stairs and when she approached he gestured for her to go down before him. "Ladies first," he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Emma scowled and brushed past him, unable to resist stomping down the stairs. When she realized he wasn't following her she looked back and saw that he was resealing that door as well. "What do you think you're doing?" she cried indignantly. "I wanted to explore more!"

Tom finished the spell and pocketed his wand, then turned and came down to join her. "In the ten minutes I spent up there, I sensed the presence of three unidentified creatures, found a dozen cursed objects, and, oh yes, saved you from becoming trapped in an enchanted mirror," he informed her coolly, raising his brows. "Given how poor your judgment is, it would be frankly irresponsible of me to leave that option open to you. Left to do as you please without a wand, you'd be dead within the hour."

"You have no way of knowing that," Emma snapped, turning away from him to go back into the room she shared with Crookshanks. The fire had actually caught, and so the space was now warm and illuminated by flickering orange flames. Her cat was curled up and sleeping next to it, and she couldn't resist going to sit down next to him so she could run her hands through his soft warm fur and hopefully calm down from the incident.

Once Tom followed her into the room, she fixed him with a fierce look and said, "you seem dry; perhaps you should head back to Abraxas now." The dismissal was thinly veiled and curt, and only caused Tom to smirk.

"I do apologize for offending you, but someone apparently has to protect you from your own stupidity."

Emma's jaw dropped. "Now just hold on—"

"Protect you, that is, until you can manage it for yourself," he continued as he walked over to the exit.

Emma blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Miss Black, it certainly wouldn't do for us to bring you before your long-lost family and reveal that you're utterly incompetent with magic," Tom said, looking back to wink at her. "They'd never believe you were theirs; we'd be laughed out of their foyer without getting a chance to plead your case."

"I am not _incompetent_ —"

"Salazar, Emma, are you not listening to me?" Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm going to get you your own wand, and teach you how to use it. _Then_ you can wander around this haunted mansion all you like."

Emma gaped at him. "My… my own wand?"

Tom smirked at her and nodded. "And, just as important, magic lessons from yours truly; I highly doubt the orphanage teachers were able to teach you anything useful."

"How on earth will you pay for it?" Emma said, frowning. "I imagine wands are expensive on the black market."

"Who said _I_ would be paying for it?" From inside his cloak, Tom produced a tangle of gold and silver chains, with some small jewels adorning some of them. He allowed these to dangle from his fingertips as he grinned at her. "I found a jewelry box upstairs that was relatively curse free, and took the liberty of claiming its contents. Three or four of these necklaces should be enough to purchase a wand, provided I can find the right seller."

Emma couldn't resist the urge to spring up and throw her arms around Tom's neck, almost knocking him over with the force of her enthusiasm. "Oh _thank you_ , Tom!" She could get her own wand! She could do magic, whenever, wherever, whatever she chose! And she was certain Tom knew all sorts of interesting bits of magic; he was always able to answer her questions far better than her old teachers had. He'd teach it to her, and then she'd be a _proper_ witch, like the ones you heard about from the old days!

Tom cleared his throat and detangled himself from her arms, taking a step back. "It's only the logical thing to do; Abraxas and I won't be able to keep an eye on you all the time, especially when we get into London. Leaving you without a wand is an unnecessary liability."

"Of course," Emma said, although she still beamed at him. "You don't really have to go, you know; if you wanted something to eat or drink you could stay—"

"Thank you, but I truly must be off. Abraxas might worry," Tom said, taking another step backwards. "Now, I know you're meeting him again next Wednesday, but would you be free tomorrow? That's when the black market will be open again."

"Certainly," Emma said, nodding eagerly. She could have a wand in as little as a day! "Where shall we meet?"

"I'll come here to collect you, if you don't mind," Tom said, turning around to mount the staircase that led outside. "The seller I'm thinking of is never there until noon, so I'll be by at a quarter to."

Emma grinned. "That'll be fine. I'll look forward to it. Good day, Tom."

Tom muttered a goodbye and disappeared, and a moment later she heard the heavy thud of the cellar door shutting behind him.

Emma settled back down on her makeshift bed and sighed, but this time it was in contentment. If she could get her own wand and even learn how to use it well, then everything Tom and Abraxas had put her through would be more than worth it. While it wasn't exactly finding herself in the middle of a sumptuous ballroom, this new promise was as good as a dream come true. Actually, it was better; it would be _real_.

Crookshanks woke briefly from his nap and stretched out as rose up, only to take the few steps necessary to climb onto her lap and curl up again. Emma smiled softly and ran a hand through his fur, allowing his rumbling purrs to soothe her. The light of the fireplace made her fluffy orange cat look almost like he was glowing, and for a moment she was reminded of the glitzy ballroom she'd watched in the mirror. At the time, it had seemed like a wholly different and unattainable world, but perhaps she'd been wrong... perhaps there was some light, some hope, some warmth in her life here in Knockturn, after all…


End file.
